


The Bait

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, It's For a Case, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-25 20:45:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18171257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: "It" all begins here.  :)





	The Bait

When John arrived at the entrance to a dark alley on a dreary and cloudy night, Lestrade was waiting for him. After Greg’s text informing him that Sherlock had disguised himself as a homeless man living in a cardboard box, John arrived in a panic.

At Greg’s signal of a finger to his lips, John leaned close to respond in a whisper. “What’s wrong? What have you not told me?”

“You know he doesn’t listen to me. He’s made himself the bait for the wanker who’s killing homeless men.”

“Until your text, I didn’t know what he was up to. He lied to me..again. If he doesn’t get killed this time, I’m going to kill him myself.”

“I have men on both ends of the alley, in disguise, so Sherlock is not alone. No one’s gone in or out since we arrived, so he’s probably safe at the moment.”

“Probably isn’t good enough, Greg. The killer could already be in there.”

“I know, John.”

“Do you know where he is?” he asked as he took a step toward the alley. Greg held him back with a firm grip on his arm.

“You’re a civilian, John, I can’t let you go in there on your own.” 

John glared his best Captain Watson at his friend, which earned him an exasperated huff.

“Halfway down, on the right in a refrigerator box wedged behind the skip.”

John stared at a point in the distance; he wasn’t about to be the one to be responsible for a reprimand on Greg’s record.

“What’s Anderson doing here?”

When his friend turned away, John took those few seconds to disregard Greg’s authority and breach the entrance to the alley.

“Where? John? I’ll kill them both myself. Bollocks.”

**

Assuming nothing, John advanced slowly toward the skip, keeping to the verge, and using the torch with his fingers obscuring the light to allow only enough to guide his feet. As he drew even with the skip, he spied the box that Greg had indicated, but when he bent down to look inside it was empty.

“Sherlock?” he whispered, hoping that Sherlock was nearby or at the other end of the skip. It was deathly silent, until John detected hesitant footsteps, but whether in front of him or behind he couldn’t determine. Using the flat of his hand to guide himself backward, he was unprepared to defend himself when a hand clamped over his mouth and pulled him behind the skip just seconds before a clanging pipe narrowly missed his head.

John found himself on his hands and knees as the gun he wasn’t supposed to have was pulled from his waistband. 

“Stay down, John,” came the whisper against his ear.

John obeyed without question. “Sherlock.”

The second hit on the skip rung in his ears, only partially obliterating the sound of the gunshot. A grunt and a collapsing body was all that was left.

John turned, framing Sherlock’s face with his hands. “You okay?”

“Yes, are you?”

Any reply John might have had was devoured by Sherlock’s warm mouth against his. With running footsteps approaching, and torch lights darting around them, John attempted to move aside, but a firm hand on his wrist allowed him only the length of Sherlock’s arm. 

Greg loomed over them. “Christ, you two are going to give me a heart attack one day.”

“It’s okay now.”

“Save your cheek for someone else, Sherlock. I heard a gunshot..”

“Greg, I’m sorry..”

“Don’t want to hear it, John. Off you go before I change my mind.”

John opened his mouth to apologise again, but Sherlock pushed him in the direction of the street.

“Don’t say anything or we’ll both end up in the Nick. I’m hungry. Dinner?”

As they departed the alley, John stopped in the middle of the pavement and grinned up at Sherlock.

“Let’s just go home, Sherlock. I need to brush my teeth and so do you. I shudder to think where that mouth of yours has been.”

Sherlock grinned at him. “Very well, John, Chinese takeaway it is.”


End file.
